Poetdiary

the man in the white shirt

28.2.20

He lives under the city
down the street
I go there sometimes
fall down the well, washed up on his doorstep
He is a house fire
nevertheless, I blow him out
drunk in touch
My fragile fragrance
begged for his manipulation
overcoming my innocence
understanding what I have lost
but watch myself
in the mirror
loosing it
Naked flesh
red and raw
Break up my bones
breathe them in across your dining table